


Call My Dad

by BrotherRyan



Series: Irondad and spiderson [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Crying, Drunk Peter, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Irondad Bingo 2019, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter gets SLOSHED, Precious Peter Parker, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic, Theres vomiting in here but it's not graphic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, Tony is a good dad, Vomiting, there is no timeline, tony stark is a dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26117503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrotherRyan/pseuds/BrotherRyan
Summary: Oh my God, what's going on?This night got fuckin' weirdDrove so fast my brain got buzzedAnd now I'm standin' hereMet so many faces thatWill probably forget meBoy, I bet I look so grown upShirt tucked in my jeansAnd now after it all, I just really wanna callMy dad, my dadI feel so broke up, I wanna go homeNo, I feel so broke up, I wanna go homeIn other words, Peter gets drunk and he misses home
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Original Female Character(s), Peter Parker & Original Male Character(s), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Irondad and spiderson [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1825333
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Call My Dad

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning i hope u are all doing well. i love u pls enjoy this fic the title is from call my dad by ajr and that's the song that is in the summary it is a banger and it sure does put me so deep in my feelings. anyways stay safe heres 7,000 words of pure shit i did not read through this before i posted it

His phone went off a quarter of the way through his physics 350 lecture. He sat in the back row, phone blatantly out on the desk in front of him beside his notebook. It would have been easier to ignore the incoming text had the class been even a little bit more interesting. If his professor were just a tad more engaging. He’d always been more of a chemistry kid anyway, which didn’t help in moments such as these. 

The text was from a boy in his study group, Brandon. Brandon was a  _ character,  _ but he was the first friend that Peter made when he first moved into the dorms at MIT. He was loud and brash and he talked too much even when he was sober. His girlfriend, Bianca, was the same way. They were built for each other like no pair Peter had ever met. He was majoring in electrical engineering, with a focus on renewable and sustainable sources. Bianca didn’t go to MIT, but not because she wasn’t smart enough to get in. She was a writer, and she  _ insisted  _ that she didn’t need to go to college to publish the next great American novel. 

The three of them hung out occasionally outside of class and outside of study group, but not regularly. Peter spent the majority of his time doing homework, studying, spidermanning, and facetiming Tony just to rehash the same equations he’d just worked on in lab. If the point of going to college was to become independent or to get straight As, Peter was flourishing. He was thriving. He was doing the absolute best, no doubt about it, no question.

If the point of going to college was to make friends or have any semblance of a good time, Peter was averaging Cs at best. 

So, when Brandon texted him, inviting him out that night to a party at some frat house down the street from their shared dorm building, he had a hard time coming up with a valid reason to decline the offer.

**Brandon (chem lab):** hey Bianca and I are going to a party at phi beta tonight if u want to go with

**Brandon (chem lab):** Bianca says “u have to come with, quit being a hermit” idk man she sounds pretty serious

Peter rolled his eyes at the blue text bubble on his screen, placing his pencil down on the desk in favor of typing out his reply.

**Peter:** I guess, but only because it’s friday. Tell bianca I’m not a hermit, im a solitudinarian, there’s a difference

He tried to focus on class again, after that, but the man speaking in  _ unfortunate  _ monotone at the front of the two hundred and fifty seat lecture hall was drawing wild diagrams on the board with a mostly dried out marker, scribbling in handwriting that was illegible anyway. The lecture was recorded though, so it didn’t really matter if he watched it in real time, he could watch it again from the comfort of his lofted XL twin back in his dorm room while enjoying a piping hot styrofoam Cup of Noodles. That’s the way he preferred to do it. 

His phone buzzed again.

**Brandon (chem lab):** right on, parker! Meet us outside the dining hall at 9 and we’ll all walk together. 

**Peter:** sounds good, see u then!

Before he knew it, it was 4:30 and class was out. He walked out through the doors at the back of the lecture hall, which were notoriously heavy and hard to open. Peter had learned early on that if he opened them first, propping them with the usually full adjacent trash can or the even elusive doorstop, traffic flowed a whole lot easier. The walk back to his dorm usually only took ten minutes, but it was kind of windy in an uncomfortable way that made his eyes water and burn, so it felt like a small eternity before he was swiping his white plastic key card in front of the sensor that allowed him entry into the building. 

He had a while yet before he needed to meet up with Brandon and Bianca, so he chose to sit at the desk underneath his bed, putting in his earbuds to play some music while he flipped through the last week’s chemistry notes. There was something about polymers that he wanted to remember for the next round of web fluid, but he couldn’t remember quite which margin he had scribbled that note into. He was quickly immersed in his work, balancing equations left and right trying to visualize the way that molecules would impact the viscosity of his new fluid. It would be easier if he were at home in the compound, sitting across from Tony, working with multimillion dollar equipment, rather than sitting at a decades old desk, in front of a 2011 Dell laptop that he’d insisted on purchasing himself. 

Tony had protested, but eventually given in, seeing the kid’s eyes light up with pride at the display of independence. 

He missed home, he missed Tony and May and Morgan and Pepper and he missed his friends. He missed going down the street to DelMars to get a sandwich, where the people all knew his name, where they all called him “Pete” instead of “You, Kid in the Red Sweatshirt”. That’s one of the many  _ things  _ about growing up, he supposed, the anonymity only increases. 

Leaving had been harder than he’d expected it to be. You never know how long the roots are until you try to move the plant, though. The night before had been all laughs, a celebration, a  _ going away  _ party. Everyone had been there, Pepper, Tony, Morgan, May. MJ and Ned were there too, sipping soda out of the can, laughing with  _ the Avengers _ , as though that was something they did all the time. At this point though, they kind of did. 

They’d been eating cake, sitting outside of Tony’s lakehouse, fire roaring. MJ had her head on Peter’s shoulder, sleepily giggling along to whatever joke Ned was telling. Morgan was sacked out, curled with her head on Happy’s chest where they sat together in a camp chair. Most everyone had gone home, or else gone to find a guest room in Tony’s house to stay for the night. 

Tony had eyed him from across the patio. 

“Alright, you three, I’m going to impart upon you some  _ wisdom _ ,” He started, Happy sighed and even if Peter hadn’t spared him a side-eyed glance, he would’ve been able to tell he was rolling his eyes. 

“Okay I know, I know, but hear me out. This is the good shit. No this is the  _ spark notes  _ version of the good shit because I’m pretty sure I got like five minutes before one of you passes out.” 

He was right, it had been a long day and all three of them were punch drunk and tired. 

“Ok here goes. Going to class is  _ not that important. _ ” 

“Tony do NOT tell the kids not to go to class I swear--” Rhodey, just stepping out through the glass doors, interjected.

“I didn’t say  _ don’t go _ , I said it’s not that  _ important.  _ Plus, are you gonna tell me that I’m wrong, Mr. Perfect Attendance?” 

Rhodey had rolled his eyes at that one before taking a seat, probably to supervise the rest of this so called “talk”.

“Ok as I was  _ saying _ , go to class, but like it’s not that important as long as you can get the information from somewhere else. Okay next, uh, I don’t know, eat a vegetable every once in a while. I swear if one of you idiots gets scurvy because all you eat is ramen, I’ll rescind  _ all  _ your acceptance letters myself.” 

MJ snorted at that one. 

“If you’re going to drink or do drugs or whatever, make sure you aren’t alone when you do it, and try not to do anything  _ too  _ stupid. I’ll post your bail  _ one time  _ and then after that you are on your own.” 

MJs soft giggles have transformed into full on laughter and Peter and Ned have both been caught up in it.

“Alright,  _ dad”  _ Peter laughs, breathy and exhausted in the best way. 

“Yeah,  _ dad”  _ MJ joined in.

“You are both little shit heads, you know that?” Tony asked, feigning incredulity. 

“I’m changing his name in my phone. No more Mr. Stark for you,” Peter snorted, fishing his phone out of his pocket and switching the name from “Tony Stark” to Dad with a red heart emoji. 

“There, that’s better,” He laughed. Tony just rolled his eyes.

He hadn’t cried until he was alone in his bed. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it, it’s not like he was going to be that far away, it wasn’t like he wasn’t coming back. He still lay there, tears trailing down his cheeks no matter how many times he tried to brush them away. It came all at once and he hadn’t been expecting it to feel that heavy. 

He was an adult, now, but that’s something people are always getting wrong. Moving out doesn’t mean you don’t want to be held anymore, doesn’t mean you want to start patching up your own scraped knees. It’s not an immediate thing, getting older. Its a step by step day by day situation. It’s got nothing to do with where you live or how far away you are from the people you love, from the people who love you.

It feels that way though. Learning to fly and learning to fall feel the exact same in the beginning.

Sometimes the memories of that night were enough to choke him, to drown him. 

  
  


When Peter finally figured out a method he thought would work, a formula that he could send home to Tony to try out, it was already almost 8:45. He stood up quickly, forgetting that his earbuds were connected to his phone, bringing it flying toward the grubby, stained carpet. He caught it with lightning fast reflexes, but the whole scenario was still maddening. 

He changed his clothes, a variation upon the outfit he’d already had on, a dark gray hoodie and a pair of faded jeans that cut up just above a well worn pair of red converse high tops. He ran a hand through his hair, looking in the mirror above the sink as he shoved his room key into his back pocket, next to his wallet. He didn’t look special, but then again, nobody did when they went out, right?  _ Right?  _

_ This is what college is supposed to feel like. This is going to be fun and I am going to enjoy it. _ He thought to himself as he made his way out to the dining hall to meet up with his friends. He shook his nervous hands out before shoving them in the front pocket of his hoodie, hand wrapping around his phone which was  _ yes _ still there. Taking a deep breath, he forced a smile and greeted his friends as they stood beneath one of the street lamps that lined the parking lot outside the dining hall. 

“ _ Hey look! _ ” Brandon yelled, his demeanor was easy, hands in the pockets of worn out jeans, hood covering the back half of his head. He laughed as he finished addressing Peter, pointing and hollering “Parker really did decide to show up!” 

Peter chuckled to himself before offering a slight wave in response.

“Hey, Peter, I’m glad you could make it,” Bianca said, calmly, before playfully shoving her boyfriend off the edge of the sidewalk, sending him stumbling a few steps before he jumped back up and tackling her back, giggling like an idiot. It was like that  _ all the time _ too. Peter just couldn't fathom it. They had the kind of love you could feel from a block away. The kind that could make you envious in record time. They were nonstop all day and  _ apparently  _ all night too.

“Let's head over, I want to get my free drinks in before the cops show up to shut it down,” Bianca said, reaching for Brandon’s hand and interlocking their fingers. They walked side by side down the street, giggling as they went, every once in a while turning around to make sure Peter was still trailing behind. The house they stopped in front of was packed and you could tell it from the sidewalk. The dilapidated and tiny front lawn was decorated with discarded red solo cups and half crushed cans of Busch Light. 

It smelled like weed and whiskey and cigarette smoke when he walked through the door. It was almost overpowering enough to make him cough, but he held it back. He followed Bianca and Brandon through the house, stopping every couple of feet to mingle with a new group of people. He never said much beyond “My name’s Peter” and “Nice to meet you”, until they reached the kitchen. Bianca cracked open a can, handing it to him passively as she opened one for herself. He sipped at it, the bitter taste filling his mouth. People liked this? People drank this for the taste? 

While he was busy trying to figure out who in their right mind would pay real life money to drink something that tasted like a lightly expired protein bar, Brandon was socializing with anyone who would talk to him. Before Peter knew it, he was being shoved in the direction of a pretty blonde girl. She wore her hair in a low bun and she was dressed in sweat pants and an old t-shirt. 

“My name’s Amy,” she introduced, sticking her free hand out for him to shake. He took it and responded with a graceful and remarkably eloquent “Uhh- I’m, My name’s Peter.” 

She laughed a laugh that made him comfortable, in a way that made her head tilt back a little bit, in a way that used her entire face. 

“What’s your major?” She leaned up against the kitchen table.

“Computer science and mechanical engineering,” He answered, “What about you?” He took another drink from the can just for something to do, and pretended not to grimace when the aftertaste was somehow  _ worse  _ than just having it in his mouth in the first place. 

“Psychology,” Her voice was easy and smooth and it made him feel warm like a cup of coffee with too much vanilla creamer, the way May used to make it before work in the mornings. Peter nodded, one hand wrapped around his can, the other shoved in his pocket. 

“Well, Peter, you wanna play a round of rage cage? I think they’re setting it up on the back porch.” She didn't wait for him to answer, slipping her thin, manicured fingers around his wrist, gently pulling him through the crowd and out to the back of the house. She explained the rules on the way, sensing somehow that Peter had never played. She was right, obviously, but he glanced at her sheepishly anyway when they arrived at the table where the game was to take place. 

“Tom!” She said, gently punching a buff looking young man in his exposed bicep, “This is Peter,” She introduced him, giving them a second to shake hands and grumble hello to one another before she was speaking again.

“What’s in the bitch cup?” gesturing to the cup in the middle of the table, surrounded by cups two thirds of the way full of amber liquid that Peter assumed was more cheap beer. 

“It’s four shots of everclear,” He laughed “Pity whatever poor bastard has to drink that, they’ll be out of commission for a full  _ week _ . The hangover is gonna be  _ insane. _ ” 

Peter  _ was  _ confused. He had never heard of anyone’s favorite part of drinking being the  _ hangover. _ The mind numbing, sure, the fun maybe, but never the hangover. 

College kids are fucking weird.

The game commenced, players bouncing ping pong balls off the table as fast as they could. It was a complete clusterfuck of spilled beverages and shouting, cheering and groaning and chugging. After what felt like  _ seconds,  _ it was down to Peter and Amy. He should be good at this, right? Better, at least. His hand eye coordination should be  _ excellent _ he should have no trouble bouncing the stupid ball into the equally stupid cup. 

When Amy stacked the final cup, signaling Peter’s  _ epic  _ loss of the game, she grinned. She was obviously tipsy, dancing a little on the balls of her feet to music that was playing far away, inside the house. 

The chorus of “chug chug chug” rang in his ears as he picked up the remaining cup, swirling the clear liquid around, contemplating whether this was even a worthwhile endeavor. 

Fuck it, though, right? You only really go to college the one time, and it’s supposed to be an  _ experience _ . It’s supposed to feel wild and reckless and wild and free. Being an adult for the first time means making your own very stupid decisions, knowing they‘re stupid, just for fun. SO, with that in mind he brought the foul smelling liquid up to his lips and drained the thing without a second thought. 

It took a couple of swallows to get it all down, but when he did, he coughed a little at the bitterness. It tasted the way MJ’s nail polish remover smelled as she scrubbed the black paint off her fingers, sitting on the edge of the bathtub at his and May’s old apartment. It tasted worse, somehow. 

“Holy shit,” someone was saying, “He actually did it?” 

He did, actually do it, that is. And it was not great, but not terrible. He took a second to think over the fact that maybe his metabolism was protecting him from feeling the alcohol’s true effects. Maybe he was like Steve, he could sit down and drain the entire bar without feeling so much as a buzz. 

Amy’s hand was on his arm, then, concerned in her eyes as she watched him for a moment.

“Dude, nobody expected you to actually do that,” She whispered, all the joy from winning drained from her body as she scanned his face and body for signs of the inevitable alcohol poisoning he’d  _ have  _ to be suffering after something like that.

“Relax,” he said, easily, gaining confidence from his newfound attention, “I’ll be fine.”

And that’s the attitude he kept for the rest of the night, casually sipping his piss-beer while mingling in and out of groups in a way he had never done before. When a shot was passed his way, he took it. He did his best to mask the foul tasting concoctions with a smile after tossing them to the back of his throat, an it was working pretty well, right up until he bumped back into Amy, who was standing with Brandon and Bianca at the back of the living room. 

“Dude, I think you’ve had enough,” Brandon was saying, trying to ease the bottle from his grip. Peter wasn’t having it, though, and his grip tightened. If he was using his Spider Stickiness™ to hold onto it, then that was his own business and nobody else's. Why would Brandon invite him out if he wasn’t supposed to have fun? Why would he ruin the only decent social interaction Peter had had since he moved out? He couldn't comprehend it. As a matter of fact, he was having a hard time comprehending anything at all.

When he tried to say “I’m fine” what came out was “mmfime”.  _ That’s not my voice. Is that my voice? Is that how I sound? Why does my head hurt? _

“I think he’s right, Peter, I think it might be time for you to head home,” Amy was saying. Her hand was on his arm again, but it felt light, like a ghost. 

_ Home _ . 

That was an idea he could get behind. Walking through the door to his apartment, dusty and comfortable, the smell of something burning covered up by some scented candle plug in that May got from the clearance section at Target. He would flop down on the living room couch, backpack discarded with his shoes by the door. The TV would already be on when he got there, it was May’s day off and she would be listening to some cooking show on the Food Network while she scraped the remnants of some failed attempt into the trash can under the sink. 

She would smile at him and he would feel warm inside, calm. 

Home.

That could be walking into the compound, Friday greeting him with some welcome message, telling him that Tony was down in the lab, Pepper was in Morgan’s room. He would walk by on his way down and wave, and Morgan would fling herself into his legs greeting him with sticky hands and shrill screeching. Pepper would sigh and roll her eyes before saying “Hey Pete,” and then he would take the elevator down to those familiar glass doors. He would walk though and Tony would be sitting at his work bench, grease stained and exhausted, but smiling. “Hey, kiddo, you’re just who I wanted to see,” he’d say before diving into whatever project they’d be immersed in for the next thirty six or so hours, until Pepper forced them to come up and go to  _ sleep for once, boys.  _

He smiled at the memories, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Come on, Peter, let's get you back to the dorms, yeah?” Amy spoke to him gently, like he might run away if she was any more forceful. He came back around, for a brief moment, a spark of clearheadedness that allowed him to remember the cold, clinical, uniform aspects of his dorm room. The school issued XL twin bed, the desk that was probably around when Tony went to school there, the carpet that smelled musty and old in a way that would have made it hard to breathe before the bite. The bare exposed brick walls and the communal hall bathroom that always smelled  _ terrible.  _ He hated it.  _ Holy shit he hated it.  _

And in that moment of clarity, he ran. 

He wasn’t sure why his breathing was getting quicker, but the world felt very small and very big simultaneously and all of a sudden. He’d spent so long looking forward to this. At 16 he dreamed about being where he was now, so why did it all feel  _ so wrong? _

He didn’t realize he was crying until his nose started to get stuffy, which was making it even harder to take in a full breath of air. He wanted to go  _ home  _ home. He wanted to hear May say she loved him and he wanted to hear Tony laugh and call him son. The feeling of independence had  _ so quickly _ turned into one of fear. The vomit was in his mouth before he could think to turn his head away from his own feet. 

Someone was calling his name from behind him. Someone had followed him out of the party? It was hard to tell when everything in the world felt  _ so loud. _ The cars tearing passed him on the street were  _ roaring  _ and he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The lights were playing games with his head, too. He was dizzy. Was he dizzy when he left? He was on his knees in seconds, elbows pressing into his thighs, knees hitting the ground unceremoniously. 

He was sobbing, choking,  _ suffocating _ . He wanted to go home and that’s the only thing he could think. Tony could fix this. May could fix this. Morgan and he stupid little toy cars that made  _ so much noise _ could fix this. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that the shouts that were gaining ground on his now crumpled form were his family. He could pretend, he could  _ pretend.  _ And maybe that would have been enough on some other night, when he was homesick but studying. When he wanted a home cooked meal but if he closed his eyes he could pretend that his dining hall chicken sandwich had been grilled on Tony’s back patio. 

But for now, he was  _ so sad _ and drunk and tired and his eyes were burning and his mouth tasted awful.  _ Did I throw up? I don’t feel good. I don’t feel good, I don’t feel good.  _

Hands were on his back. Someone was talking to him, but the words sounded very far away, and garbled like they were under water. He was being guided backwards a bit, stepping away from the pool of his own vomit that decorated the cracked pavement. Someone was dragging a paper towel, a napkin, maybe, over his lips. There was a water bottle held to his mouth and he took a small sip, allowing the cool liquid to soothe his burning throat. 

He was laying down, then, on his back on the sidewalk. Alternating between squeezing his eyes shut tight and staring blankly into the sky. There would have been so many stars, if he was out at Tony’s lake house rather than in the city. If he was there, he’d be sitting around the carefully crafted campfire, on a chair that was probably worth more than his tuition, hand carved or some shit like that. The smell would be intoxicating and Morgan’s giggling would be contagious. Happy would be worried about her getting burnt but Tony,  _ Tony _ , would just laugh and watch her stick her fingers together with leftover marshmallow. 

And just like that, he was crying again. He’d never pegged himself to be a sad drunk. He figured he’d be more a “Hold My Beer” type like Tony had been when he’d drank. He wanted to go home, though, and maybe if he were there already, his reaction would be different. Not that it mattered, though.

“Shit, do you think we should call someone?” Someone was saying, then stroking at his cheek, wiping his tears away “Peter, do you have someone you want us to call? Help you calm down?” 

It was Amy, and she sounded worried. 

He wanted her to call Tony, he knew that, he just didn’t know how to make that thought turn into words. 

“Peter, hey, I know, I know, I’m sorry,” She said, trying to get him to focus on her words. She sounded like she was talking to a baby. Like she was talking to a toddler who was throwing a tantrum in a supermarket. “Can I call, like, can I call your mom? Do you want me to do that for you?” 

There was some hushed whispering between Brandon and Bianca, but he couldn’t make out more than “ _ don’t think he has a mom”  _ which only made him cry harder. He didn’t have a  _ mom _ per say, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a May. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a Pepper. That didn’t mean he wasn’t loved, right? His drunk brain was having a hard time making sense of any of it.

“Okay, okay, that’s alright, do you have a dad I can call, Peter?” She asked again, cupping his cheek in her warm hand. A  _ dad,  _ no, he thought, he didn’t have one of those either. He had a Tony, though, right? And Peter’s eyes shine just like his when he laughs. He hears Tony in the way that he talks, in the way that he holds himself. He’s not Tony’s, right? But at the same time, he’s just about got to be. 

His phone is fished out of his hoodie pocket and there is someone asking for the password. It’s just so hard to keep track of everything that’s going on around him that he thinks maybe it would be easier to go to sleep, right there, head pillowed on stubborn weeds that found a home in the sidewalk cracks. 

“Peter, who do you want us to call?” Amy asked, raking her fingers through his hair, lines of worry working their way across her forehead. Peter was still breathing too quickly and the tears were still coming and he was still so nauseated and dizzy and the thought of opening his mouth to answer was  _ so unappealing  _ that he couldn’t even bring himself to do it. He ended up using his thumb to unlock his phone after someone manhandles it into his grip. 

“Mmda-” He slurred out before a fresh wave of vomit rose in his throat. Hands were on him again, turning him to his side so he wouldn’t choke. Amy rubbed his back, trying to ease the tension that seemingly filled his entire body as he spasmed. 

“Alright, just get it out, shhh, take a breath, now” She coached, watching his shoulders hitch between bouts of gagging. 

He took a breath. He took several breaths, in quick succession because holy  _ fuck  _ he didn’t feel good and holy  _ fuck  _ did he want to go home. 

  
  
  


Tony answered the call on the second ring.

“Kid, I swear to God it is one am and if you are out doing some  _ stupid shit _ I’m going to come down there and pick you up myself.” 

There was a beat of silence before Brandon spoke.

“Excuse me, sir--” 

“To whom am I speaking?” Tony asked, his voice clipped.

“My name is uh, my name is Brandon, I’m a friend of Peter’s.” 

“Well is he  _ okay _ ? Cut to the chase here, kid” 

“He’s, yeah, not exactly, he’s- he’s very  _ drunk _ and uh we’re having a hard time getting him to calm down, sir.” Brandon tried to explain, tried to keep it from sounding like Peter was dying in front of him.  _ Kids drink too much all the time. This happens all the time. THis is a fixable thing that totally happens all the time.  _

“Alright,  _ Brandon _ , can you put him on the phone, please?” He didn’t mean to sound terse, but if he was being honest, and he was, the need for reassurance was greater than his need to be perceived as polite. 

Brandon held the phone to Peter’s ear as soon as he stopped coughing up his most recent round of bile. 

“Hey Peter, I got your dad for you okay?” He tried to sound calm, but he dropped the phone like it was hot the second that Peter’s fingers found their way around it. He backed away from the scene, holding Bianca in his arms at a safe distance. She was looking pretty pale herself, having just witnessed Peter literally spilling his guts onto the sidewalk. 

“Pete, can you hear me, bud?” Tony asked being sure to enunciate each syllable. 

Peter vaguely nodded and then, thinking it through, made a half grunting half moaning sound into the receiver. 

“What’s goin’ on, Pete?” 

“I went- I went to a- to a party and I- I think I need to come home,” He choked out between sobs. 

“Okay, okay, that’s fine, do you want me to come there and we can leave in the morning after you get some rest?” Tony said, trying to keep his head level. His instinct was telling him to get in the suit and get there as soon as possible, but he  _ knew  _ Peter and he  _ knew  _ that if he showed up in the suit, Peter would be flustered and the last thing he wanted to do was contribute to his feeling overwhelmed.

“That, that sounds good,” Peter whispered.

“Alright, kiddo, let your friends take you back to your dorm, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can,” 

  
  


Getting Peter back to his dorm room proved an even more difficult task than anyone could have anticipated. He struggled to keep himself upright and he had to stop every few feet to collect himself enough to continue the journey. 

He threw up in the bushes outside of the chemistry building. 

When they finally got him to the stairwell of his building, scanned his key card and got him inside, everyone was  _ more  _ than exhausted. Still, though, Brandon threw his arm around his shoulder and half walked half carried him to the elevator, punching the buttons to get him to his third floor single. 

Brandon settled him on the floor next to his bed, opting to forgo trying to get him onto the lofted mattress that sat above their heads. He plunked the wastebasket in his lap and sat opposite of Peter as he threw up for what felt like the billionth time. 

Amy and Bianca called themselves an Uber and offered their condolences as they left, promising to send check in texts in the morning to make sure everything was alright. Brandon waved them off, ensuring that he would stay in the room until Peter’s dad arrived.

He didn’t end up needing to stay for  _ too  _ long, before there was a knock at the door, followed by a soft voice whispering “Pete, can you let me in?” 

Brandon got up from his post and unlocked the heavy walnut door to reveal- 

“Holy  _ shit,  _ you’re  _ Tony Stark,”  _

“That’s my name, kid, you need a ride out of here or are you good to get home yourself?” 

To say that he was starstruck would be an understatement. He settled for snapping his jaw shut from where it was  _ hanging  _ open, and nodding quickly. 

“Awesome. Get there safe, then. Thanks for all your help, I’m sure this idiot,” He started, gesturing to Peter with a thumb, “-will talk to you tomorrow.”

Brandon opened and closed his mouth a few times before reaching for an awkward hand shake and excusing himself. 

Tony let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, preparing for what was sure to be a  _ very  _ long night. 

The first time he woke up, it was to throw up again. 

There wasn’t much left, given that that’s what he had been doing for the last several hours, but the bile and saliva still burn when they come up, the force of it brings a tear or two to his eyes. Tony stays there to make sure his head stays aimed over the bucket and to wipe the strings of it from his chin when he leans back, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Alight, kiddo, we’re gonna have a  _ talk  _ when you feel better.” Tony said, mostly to himself. His voice echoed in a hauntingly familiar way off the exposed brick. 

It was easy to remember that feeling, sitting cross legged on some grubby, grungy, blue green carpet, a trash can in his lap. It was easy to remember that feeling of complete and total isolation, despite Rhodey’s constant teasing and simultaneous reassurance. He had been a crier, once he got to this point, once he got past the desire to yell and dance and break shit, throw glasses against the sidewalk outside just to hear it shatter before him. Peter wasn’t like that though, Peter seemed like the type to cry from the get go. To get tired from one glass of wine and sadder from there. 

The second time Peter woke up, it was to the sound of the door opening again, the smell of takeout soup. The scent of it had his stomach rolling again, but Tony helped him sit up against the wall, up from his pile of towels and his pillow which had, at some point in the night, ended up under his  _ aching  _ head. He ate his soup one bite at a time, the only thought in his head, a prayer to keep it all down.

The  _ third _ time he woke up, it was the middle of the next day. Tony was sitting in his desk chair, typing on  _ his  _ laptop. He squinted at it, trying to see what he was writing, but the screen looked fuzzy and his head still hurt.

“Tony?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in an effort to wake himself up a little more.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he spoke without turning around, “You done pukin’?” 

Memories of the night before came back in pieces, chunks were missing, lost like car keys between couch cushions. The apology was out of his mouth before he could even fully remember what he was sorry for.

“Kid, we gotta talk about this, you know that right?” Tony said, interrupting him. He spun the chair around and looked down at Peter with his forearms resting on his thighs. 

“What had you so worked up, huh?” 

Peter didn’t want to answer. Maybe it was the shame that tied like cinderblocks around his ankles. Maybe it was the desire, the  _ need _ , for things to be okay. He couldn’t even get his thoughts together enough to figure it out. 

He was crying again before he even had a chance to process the burning in his eyes. Tony came down from his chair then, settling on the floor beside him, tucking Peter’s head in the crook of his neck, his nose brushing against his collar bone. He wrapped an arm around his shoulder and absently rubbed at his bicep with the side of his thumb. 

“I miss you,” Peter whispered, “I mean, not now- not when- not when you’re here- I mean, when I’m here by myself I miss you. I miss you  _ so much _ that it hurts. I- I can’t sleep and I think about you  _ all the time _ and I don’t want to bother you I don’t want to call two thousand times a day just because I- I wish I was there” 

Tony sighed again.

“Kid, I wouldn’t care if you called  _ three thousand _ times a day.” 

Peter forced a chuckle.

“Seriously, I don’t care. Plus bonus points if I’m in a stupid boring meeting and I get to leave. And, if you’re thinkin’ maybe you need a break, that’s okay too. College is weird and  _ stressful _ even for a normal kid, and  _ you,”  _ he punctuated the pronoun with a soft jab to Peter’s shoulder “are decidedly  _ not normal” _

“I want- I want to keep doing it, school is important to me and I’m good at it I know I can do well, I just, I wish Ned was here, or MJ, or I wish I could see you twice a week still and work on stuff in the lab or whatever. I just-I don’t like being alone all the time.” 

“Hey that's okay, you don’t have to be alone all the time.  _ That  _ is something we can fix. Do you know how easy it would be to send Happy down here to pick you up for the weekends? It wouldn’t be anything at all.”Tony already had one hand searching his pocket for his phone, trying to set those plans in stone before Peter even had the chance to respond.

He thought about it for a moment, letting the room fall into a comfortable silence. If he went home on the weekends, he would get the comfort of something he knew. It wouldn’t be five days a week of something he wasn’t quite used to yet and being home for a part of it would help ease him into that transition. On the other hand, though, it’s hard to get settled into a new routine if you don’t ever try to in the first place.

In the end, the word that comes out of his mouth is “Maybe,” and he whispers it so quietly that Tony almost doesn’t catch it.

“Okay, that’s fine, and we don’t have to figure it all out right this second. You’ve got as much time as you need to get this degree and if you decide you’re not that into it anymore, that’s okay too. I want you to know that. Some piece of paper isn’t going to change your value. Plus you already have a job with me- that is if you want it.” He was rambling then, desperate to come up with something to say that would put Peter more at ease. 

He was rewarded when Peter turned his head slightly to bump his forehead into his neck. 

“Either way, you need a shower.” he said after a moment. Peter laughed, really laughed then, which made Tony smile. 

“You stink,”

“I do not,” Peter tried to argue, giggling

“Kid you have vomit  _ on  _ your shirt, you  _ need  _ a shower.’ 

That brought his attention back around, causing him t scramble back from his mentor as quickly as he could manage. 

“Ew are you  _ serious?  _ How long were you gonna let me  _ sit like that? _ ” He was comically worried, his brown eyes huge and his eyebrows pinched in disgust.

“Just get out of here and get cleaned up, I’ll take care of  _ this _ ” He gestured around at the piles of used tissues and the empty soup container. The trashcan sat by the door, the white odor proof bag tied tightly to keep the stench contained. 

Peter stood quickly, the blood rushing to his head, he leaned against the bed for support while he gained his bearings, opening his eyes to see Tony’s bemused face staring up at him from the floor.

“I remember  _ these  _ days from college. Ohhh boy, those were some  _ times.  _ Did I ever tell you about the time I got so hammered I threw up off the top level of a parking garage and Rhodey had to drag me  _ and  _ my bike back home? He’s a saint, I really should call him more often. Speaking of, you should text your friends. That kid with the big mouth seemed pretty worried about you,”

Peter took a second to cringe over the fact that he had had a  _ full scale breakdown  _ right in front of the only college friends he had ever made. He groaned at the thought of seeing them all again, at the thought of them seeing  _ him  _ again. He didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes. He didn’t want to see the thinly veiled disgust that they must surely have for him now that they’d seen him turn his entire stomach inside out on the side of the road. 

As though he could see the cogs turning in his head, Tony broke the silence.

“Go take a shower, kid,” 

It was spoken so softly, so  _ gently,  _ that it almost had Peter crying again. Instead, he picked himself up and gathered the necessary supplies before slipping out the door to the communal showers.

  
  


When he returns, his hair still soaking wet, mouth finally, blessedly clean, Tony is still in his room. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought he’d come back to an empty room. It’s one of those things that you have to get used to when someone cares about you deeply and has the time to show you. 

“I talked with Happy. And May. And Pepper. Morgan says hello, by the way, and before you get all up in arms for tattling, I  _ didn’t _ . I  _ could’ve,  _ because you did something  _ stupid and reckless,  _ but you know that and my guess is you won’t be doing it again any time soon.”

All Peter can do is nod as he stands there, holding on to his shower caddy with one hand, dotting the carpet at the entrance of the room with the water that drips from it’s corners. 

“Here’s what we’ll do. It’ll be an every other weekend kind of a deal. A  _ freshly divorced parents _ pick up and drop off type scenario. Nobody’s getting a divorce, obviously, I mean that someone will come pick you up every other weekend and drive you back into town. You can stay with whoever you’d like, but you know your room is always available and my door is always  _ always  _ open for you.” 

He’s got the plan laid out like Peter had been gone for a week rather than a half hour. It’s sort of frightening the way that he can do that, take a problem so big it takes Peter to understand even the smallest of facets, and boil it down into a solution that, although not foolproof, will likely work in the short term. Long enough anyway for Peter to figure out what he’s  _ actually  _ doing. 

He nods again.

“Put your shit down, Pete.” 

And just like that he’s fifteen again. He’s back in Tony’s lab and he’s too scared to touch anything because all of it looks like it’s worth more than his life and he’s too afraid to eat the lunch that Pepper brings down for the two of them because he doesn’t want to get greasy fingerprint mars on the glass counter top. 

He unpacks and rakes his fingers through his hair one last time before throwing the towel in the hamper along with the rest of his disgusting, dirty clothes. 

Step by step, he feels himself getting a little lighter. 

“Okay, so now that we’ve got that sorted out, what are the odds you’re free this week?”

Peter had to think about that one. That was a Brain Power question and it took him a second to figure out if his chemistry exam was due this coming Wednesday or if it had already happened  _ last  _ Wednesday. To his credit, Tony waited patiently while he went through his planner, hands folded in his lap.

“I- I think I am,” He finally decided, looking back up at his mentor.

“Alright cool. So. Here’s the deal.  _ You  _ are taking the week off. Skype into your classes or whatever, get notes from someone, teach yourself, whatever. If you need a doctor’s note for some fuck ass professor, we can get you that too. You’re taking a break, kid, you  _ have  _ to.” 

The thought of missing an entire week’s worth of material stressed him out almost to the same degree of attending an entire week’s worth of lectures. The argument he was about to make died in his throat as Tony spoke again.

“It’s  _ non-negotiable,  _ kid, if you don’t take a break, a break is going to take  _ you _ , alright? That’s how these things go, trust me I’m an expert.”

“You never take breaks, Tony, that’s why Pepper’s always so mad all the time,” Peter did his best to lighten the mood.

“ _ First of all,  _ Pepper is  _ frustrated  _ with me. There’s a difference.  _ Second _ , did I not just say that the break will take you? Because I’m pretty sure that’s what I said, and we’ve seen that happen to me. We aren’t talking about me though, we’re talking about  _ you.” _

Peter smiled at that. Reading those “What Am I Feeling” books to Morgan must have really gotten into his head.

“Anyways, it’s a done deal. Happy is already on his way, we got an hour or two to kill, so why don’t you get your backpack, whatever you need, and we can go get something to eat before it’s time to head out. Sound good?” 

All he can do is nod. It felt nice. He’d spent so long running from being told what to do that he didn’t even realize how nice it was to have the structure. 

When Happy picked them up later that day, Peter slid into the back seat and rested his head against the window. He let sleep overtake him and the heaviness in his eyelids was the greatest weight inside him.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> pls let me know what u think asking for a friend but the friend is me


End file.
